


Lost It To Trying [DISCONTINUED]

by JuliaKun



Category: Carmilla (Web Series), Carmilla - All Media Types
Genre: And angst, F/F, Fluff, Kinda AU, also ft. kid!laura, me luuurv angst, monster!Carm, relationship tags are end-game, still gonna have those season 1 and 2 moments, tho might have snippets of other relationships too
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-24
Updated: 2016-03-02
Packaged: 2018-05-23 00:00:13
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,697
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6098230
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JuliaKun/pseuds/JuliaKun
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>[DISCONTINUED]</p><p>Not too soon, you plead.</p><p>Time froze for you; you wouldn’t be selfish to stop Laura’s too. But the ending draws near and for the first time in centuries, you wish for time to slow down.</p><p>or</p><p>The monster!carm AU ft. the growing up of Laura</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Infinitesimal

**Author's Note:**

> Multi-chap and this one's been sitting at my mind for week now so.

_There are millions, billions, trillions of stars and I’m down here low fussing over scars on my soul. Lately I’m feeling like a big bang, ‘cause I’ve been making something out of nothing._

_Infinitesimal, Mother Mother_

* * *

 

Its weight settled against your palms as you examine its slowly decaying exterior. You considered throwing it away a few decades back but no, it keeps you sane; the journal stays. When you were at the brink of losing your sanity – after Mother killed Ell, when she found you in Paris after escaping the coffin – Will asked you to keep a journal.

_“If you can’t share it with me, do it on paper.”_

The idea seemed repulsive – you have centuries worth of sin and a journal won’t, _couldn’t_ , fit all of those – but you still wrote sometimes anyway.

Remembering all those girls names had been hard – your mind was filled with Ell, Ell, _Ell_ – so you realized that the others didn’t matter enough for you to remember their name. You did, however, remember the stars.

Star, constellations, the endless night sky under which you tell them about love and promises and make them fall for you; you never, will not, catch them.

_No._

That was Mother’s job.

So you write. Slowly filling a journal filled with stars and maps of skies, some on faraway places from each other, some almost linking to make part of the world’s sky. The journal never felt heavy, neither did the pen.

Not until now, as you stepped in Will’s mission.

A girl was his mission but it was you who she fell for; so hard that she introduced you to her family. She dragged you to a family reunion with her in the woods. _Perfect_ , you thought.

The night before you let her fall into Mother’s hands – you went outside of your shared tent, your victim was having nightmare you know all too well, Ell had them too– you were too busy mapping the sky on your journal, when a woman sat next to you. She smelled like Paris, worn books and old vinyl records – you remembered her as Lauren. She didn’t ask why you were still up, instead, she smiled fondly at you like she’s known you for a long time.

Lauren took a peek at your notebook, impressed with page with the constellations above you.

“My daughter loves mysteries. One time, my husband and I took her to a police station on her ninth birthday and she immediately went to a detective. That day, we weren’t sure who the detective was. If it was Laura or a man licensed for the job.” She laughed as spoke of her daughter, how she was interested in the beauty of mysteries – of her daughter’s passion – of how an eleven-year-old chased after them.

You then realized that, while her daughter’s passion is mysteries, Lauren’s is her daughter.

Her eyes were filled with glimmer and sparkle of something you couldn’t put your finger on. You set your pen down and listened.

It was long after she turned in and her warm kiss on your forehead goodnight ran cold that you turned your head back up to the sky and then tore a page in your journal, the one you were mapping on earlier. Whatever was at Lauren’s eyes, the stars looked dim in comparison.

For the first time, the stars lost its beauty.

You still carried on the job, albeit half-heartedly and you stalled as much as you can, gaining another night but you _swear_ that you didn’t mean for what happened next.

One of Mother’s pets went to you early that evening; the reunion will be over in the morning and you won’t be in the woods anymore and that would be too late. You paid him no mind, only registered the words.

_Mother’s impatient. I’m taking too long. I need to take her to Mother tonight._

But the man’s last words echoed in your mind that you couldn’t help but see red – bright glaring red that became too consuming and you clenched your fists tightly, your knuckles white even long after the man left.

Your victim noticed your rigid posture and you nodded your head when she asked if you want to walk for a bit. It was an opportunity, to be alone with her, to put her to sleep, and take her to Mother.

You were still seeing red when you landed on all fours and felt the earth beneath your paws as her scream split the night. Sounds of startled crows flying away reached your ears and you know that Mother’s watching you.

_“You’re turning out to be another disappointment again, Mircalla.”_

Footsteps approached and the sound of twigs breaking and grass being trampled was thrumming in your ears. _It’s just one person_ , you thought as the footsteps drew near. You made quick work of your victim, putting her to sleep, hauling her to your back and ran to the picnic tables a few ways away from the camp site.

_You were still seeing red._

The man was there, he took her from your back and left. Your ears perked up when you heard a leaf crumple beneath heavy boots.

It was Lauren.

The next thing you know, you were back to being human. The grass felt uncomfortable under your naked body but Lauren was pressed against you. Blood filled your lungs, heavy and flowing from a large cut at the woman’s forehead.

_All you can see was red_ , oozing from an angry cut that wasn’t yours and it was warm as it trickled on your skin. It wasn’t yours. _The blood wasn’t yours._

The ghost of her warm hand still lingered at your cheek and her eyes seemed brighter than before.  Just then, she whispered _Laura_ and you thought that she was supposed to say her name, but she didn’t.

She wasn’t talking about herself.

Even as she stared at the eyes of her own death, she thought of her daughter.

A few weeks later, you revisited the town a few miles from the woods. Here, Lauren’s scent was faint but scattered. You caught a whiff of her at a flower shop, another at a bench in the park, and some at the market place,  but it was at the street you were currently at her scent was a tad bit stronger.

You don’t even know why you went back. Mother gave you a two-month-all-expense paid to the Mediterranean, the open-flight ticket burning your hip through the duffel bag. The moment Mother let you go after you handed your last victim over, you shoved the envelope in and left.

It was also weird that you can smell a faint scent of William scattered at some parts of the small town. Maybe he went here for a spree and marked a girl or two but Lauren’s scent was still filling your lungs, and although faint, it makes your fingers itch.

So you grab your notebook and pen, scratching and drawing at the back of the same paper you ripped weeks ago—you couldn’t throw it away; not when Lauren said it was beautiful. You tried to figure out what she saw last. It was probably you; either as a panther or a human – it didn’t matter. You were a monster at both anyway.

You lost track of time as you swiped angry strokes at the page when you thought of how blinded you are and let her die on your hands; soft strokes at the thought of her daughter. Because of you, a kid lost a mother. She’ll grow up without a mother. _Without Lauren_ , and the bitter thought intensified as her smell felt like it was closing in on you, haunting you.

“Boo!” And it did haunt you; in the form of a child. Your eyes settled on a kid who resembled Lauren so much that it made your insides clench. The kid was no more than twelve-years-old, probably less, and the age geared all kinds of warning in head.

Honey-coloured hair and the same golden, amber eyes; she looked up at you in a way of curiosity and you couldn’t help but think that the last time you had eyes like hers staring up at you, the owner died.


	2. Rhiannon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> updating coz i have exams later and it's one in the morning rn oh gawd. this was actually written before the first chap, and pardon the errors.

_She is like a cat in the dark; and then she is the darkness. She rules her life like a fine skylark and when the sky was starless. All your life you’ve never seen a woman taken by the wind._

_Rhiannon, Fleetwood Mac_

* * *

 

You firmly believe that everyone encountered at least _one_ mystery in their lives.

At first, you thought that the disappearance of your Dad’s beard was a mystery.

That is, until you ‘solved’ it on a weekday afternoon, sitting at the closed lid of your parent’s bathroom toilet, humming Harry Potter’s theme as you watched him carefully apply something he calls a shaving cream – and you’re convinced that it is the disappearing cream from Tom and Jerry – and showed you how beards are shaved.

That was your first and lamest one.

You relentlessly chased mysteries after that. Surely the next ones were remotely like playing detective but it was slightly better than the shaving.

The groan of embarrassment that escapes your lips at the thought of that particular memory of _the shaving_ turned into a reflex now that you realized its insignificance. But you can’t help but be fascinated at the same time that if it weren’t for your dissatisfaction for that incident, you would’ve never chased mystery after mystery.

When you get bored of the lack of action happening, Susan, a close friend and a red-headed science freak with an unfathomable love for every scientific explanation, would find something interesting and worth investigating for you. A past time that Lola – Susan’s next door neighbour, an incredible talent in the kitchen, and another close friend of yours – slightly disapproves but begrudgingly joins you after a thorough reminder of possible dangers while playing in the street.

Also, Susan provides you a never-ending supply of TV series to watch and Lola makes the greatest chocolate chip cookies you’ve ever tasted.

_Of course_ you’ve kept them as friends for the sake of friendship and not just for Susan’s series or Lola’s cookies.

Yup. Just _pure_ friendship and no materialism right there.

You gained more friends but kept Lola and Susan in a special place—they were two years older than you and when they moved to middle school, you were downhearted. After those years, the mysteries died down considerably. In compensation, you drowned yourself in the most amazing TV show Susan gave you; _Doctor Who_.

At fifth grade, however, you encountered the most puzzling mystery ever. Although it wasn’t so much of a mystery but rather the event that kept you hanging onto your passion for solving mysteries.

In short, it was a bear attack. Or at least that’s what the police claimed it to be. It was judged by the claw marks littering the ground and some trees. Your mother was at the woods that time with her side of the family while having a family reunion. Naturally, you and your Dad would’ve come with except that at that time, you were doing some last-minute scout cookies selling.

She came back a few hours after the news broke; wrapped in a dark green bag, that was the last time you saw your mother.

A man in equally dark green attire approached your Dad as you watched with tear-clouded eyes. He told him that she went into a coma after hitting her head on the stone picnic table provided on the camping grounds. She died on the way back.

One of her cousins though, still at the age of seventeen, went missing. And so did the said cousin’s girlfriend who tagged along to the trip which, shockingly, no one of the surviving relatives remembered the name.

It was sort of a puzzle, but at the same time, not really. _Bear attack, Mom got caught in it, two girls went missing._ Nothing seemed amiss in the police reports either. Just stated that the bear must’ve either eaten the girls whole – which seemed highly impossible – or it took them back to its home. Police are doing their best to track them down, _the least we could do is to get their bodies back_ , they said.

A statement everyone lost hope in after a few weeks of the incident.

It was also the time that your Dad had a hard time keeping himself together, slowly piecing two and two of him back.

He came around, eventually, weeks after the scattering of your Mom’s ashes at her parent’s horse ranch in the country-side where you’re Mom and Dad met.

His eyes weren’t red anymore as he patted your head. Perry and Susan was there to witness it too since they were the ones who took the parental figures for the few weeks your Dad wasn’t around. His smile didn’t reach up to his eyes anymore and his eyes looked lighter.

You have never seen your Dad looked so old.

It was one of the mysteries you knew that would take you years to solve. You are more than happy with that. Right now, you just want to spend the moment with your father after his absence.

Even if it meant the monthly hauling – yes, _hauling_ , not shopping – of bear spray.

There are all kinds of mysteries in the world; one or two entitled and reserved for each individual. You just didn’t expect yours to be a girl clad in black with a fading grey duffel bag attached to her hip, a black vest with a hood which fluttered slightly in the wind, and her nose buried in what looked like a leather notebook.

She looked mysterious so naturally, after ignoring all of the stop signs at your brain, you crept up to her.

And before you could conjure up a proper introduction, “Boo!” spilled from your mouth.

Her head whipped to you, who was close and was practically attached to her hip that wasn’t occupied with the bag. She was confused and lifted her arm to which you passed under, settling to her side and facing her, looking upward.

“Jesus, cupcake, you scared me.” The girl knelt down and she smelled familiar. Once you were on eye level and her bag was somewhere on the ground beside her, you reached out for her hair. They were soft and nearly black and in some shade of brown with a pink streak on one side. A hand reached up to yours and placed it back to your side, her hand on your wrist. “What are you doing?” she whispered. “You shouldn’t go creeping up to strangers.”

“But you look so weird.” The answer was of pure honesty. The fact that she was also a _little_ mysterious was just a bonus.

“Didn’t your parents teach you that talking to strangers could be dangerous?” Her hand retreated and settled on her knee. “I could be a kidnapper or a serial killer on the loose, you know.”

Giving a shrug, you reached out for her hair again. Now it looks black; rivalling the night sky that danced around the edges of your vision. It was getting dark. “I don’t know. Are you one?”

She chuckled and stood up, opening her leather notebook again. A familiar smell wafted through your nose and it reminded you of thunderstorms and newly-lit fireplaces and hot cocoa during winter while reading stories by the fire and Uncle Ben’s cigar butts – _must be her perfume._

“I could be one.” Her eyes never left the notebook so you tugged at the hem of her shirt until she let out a weird sound and looked down on you again. “Look, sweetheart, I’m looking for something right now. Go back to playing or something.”

The bag was picked up and she started walking. You followed.

“What are you looking for? Maybe I can help.” Not a single glance was spared and her walk didn’t falter; you continued to follow her. “I love solving mysteries, you see, and you look like you’re tracking down one. I could be your partner or something!” The thought of being side-by-side by someone older while solving mysteries was enticing.

“Or something...” she grumbled but shook her head slightly. “You just don’t stop, do you?” Shaking your own head eagerly from side to side, she pinched the bridge of her nose. “Okay, fine.” She sounded exasperated; much like how when you begged Perry for more cookies or when you ask your Dad to finish your veggies for you. It was also the tone that indicates that you just got your way. It made you grin. “Okay, I’m looking for a guy named William Luce, you know him, cupcake?”

_Cupcakes are delicious_ , but that wasn’t the point. William Luce, you know him, of course. Also known as Will, he was the tall brunet guy who works at the music store your Mom used to hung-out at.

“I know him. He lives on top of the music store next to the ice cream shop. He calls me Midget so I hate him most of the time. But he’s nice. He even lets me use the thing that uses super big discs when I’m there.” She hums and says _a phonograph_ under her breath, taps a finger on her chin, and you stared at her. After a few second, you ask: “Want me to take you there?”

She pats you on the head and adjusts her bag. “As much as I would like to, buttercup, but it’s getting late. Your parents must be worried.”

“It’s only my Dad, Mom’s gone now so.” You left the last syllable to drag and rocked on the balls of your feet. “And it’s only a couple of blocks away. Dad can wait.”

“Go home, kid.” You stare each other down. Your eyes start to feel like sandpaper so you wiped at them furiously until you’re tearing up. Hands covered yours and she wiped the corners with the pad of her thumb. “You’re so stubborn.” Her lips quirked upside slightly. “Fine, if you want, you can come with me tomorrow.”

You were practically vibrating with excitement as you hugged her torso to the best as your little arms could without completely stretching your arms to wrap it around her. “I’ll see you here tomorrow then?”

“Yeah, kid.”

“You can call me Laura.” You mumbled at a rib.

“Okay,” You expected her to call you by your name, “go home now.” She didn’t.

That night, at dinner, you didn’t tell your Dad about the teenage girl. After all, you wouldn’t want to disclose the information to a civilian yet.

Susan told you that you watch too many TV shows. You didn’t talk to her for an entire day and after apologising profusely, she never brought it up again – although, you’re starting to think that she’s right.

The next day had a chilly wind; the girl was sitting at the curb, exactly where you saw her yesterday. The bag was still attached to her hip but she was wearing a denim jacket this time and her leather notebook was nowhere to be found.

“Lead the way, cupcake.” You grinned widely at her, dragging her by the wrist to the music store.

It wasn’t far but it wasn’t close to your house either.  Most of your parents music collection came here and your Mom always swings by the place; never missing a day.

You pushed the door open as far as you can before you felt the girl push it wider. The same sound of the broken bell was the first thing you heard, followed by Will’s soft piano music in the background – typical. He once said it was a composition from a guy named Chopin.

The store was basically your mother’s perfume; a smell you can’t pinpoint what but it surely reminds you of her.

“William!” Resounding off the stacks and stacks of vinyl and CDs, William poked his head out from under the counter, his lazy eyes finding yours easily.

You took in a deep breath and smiled – then you heard a thud. You looked back at the girl and you noticed that she had her back pressed firmly at the door, the bag squished in-between, and nostrils flaring slightly, her eyes were slightly wide and alarmed. Before you can inquire further, William spoke.

“You’re ruining my peaceful afternoon.” William is the very picture of laid-back. There was one time in which you and your mom sat outside at the curb with ice cream dripping from your chins as you waited for William to open the store... which happened two hours after his scheduled opening. _Slept in_ , was his lazy excuse. He looked up and smirked at the girl behind you, shaking his head lightly. “Why don’t you play with the phonograph, midget. Play anything you like.”

But there was something wrong. William’s posture was stiff than usual then you remembered that you still had your hands wrapped on one of the girls wrist. You turned your head around, tugging at her hand. She looked down to you but kept her eyes to your hands, burning holes through it.

“Better do as her says, creampuff.” She said in a shaky exhale. Her bag was once again settled on the floor, next to the racks, and let go of your hand. “We’re going to need the privacy.”

Grabbing something random from the shelves, you vaguely register the music playing as _Rhiannon by Fleetwood Mac,_ a song you remembered from a very particular lazy morning in your parent’s bedroom as your Mom packed for their reunion and as your Dad get ready for work, your Mom abandoning her suitcase in favour of singing and braiding your hair.

Words such as _brother_ , _Maman_ , _Mattie_ , and something that sounded like _Vorde-something_ – Voldemort popped into your head – reached your ears but that’s about it.

Maybe William and the girl are siblings.

So you snuck up to their conversation, intrigued, and hid behind the stacks and the words became clearer.

“Mother told me Mattie’s in Italy. You know how much I hate this. I wasn’t up for another decade, Willy-boy. But I complied and finished _your_ job.” William made the scoffing sound you knew too well. “And I’ve gained time, enough to keep Mother off of my back for a while, at least.” The girl said with an irritated tone, followed by a loud sigh. “She wants her little boy back. You’ve been gone far too long for her liking.”

“Shut up, Kitty. We both know that that isn’t true.” The room fell in heavy silence and you could hear your own breathing despite the music. “She only cares about you, _her glittering girl_.” You parted the stacks with one hand and peeked at them. The girl was holding William firmly by the collar, her knuckles turning white.

“Don’t call me _that_.” Her words were spit out like venom, settling William back to his feet. You held a hand to your mouth, afraid to let out a single noise. You start to think that, maybe, you should stop eavesdropping. “You should be grateful that it was me who came here. If it wasn’t me, Mother would’ve sent her goons after you, drag you back instead.” Both were still in each other’s space; _they look alike_ , you thought.

“Okay, you listen to me, _Kitty,_ ” William spoke in a taunting manner and his voice grew quiet, staring the girl down. “You know why you’re here? Because of my mission, yeah? Did you know that while you were busy dragging your little friend away for Mother, another woman—“; his eyes strayed into the stacks, catching yours. You ducked down and clamped your hand harder to your mouth, hoping he didn’t notice you.

Their voices were hushed after that, you couldn’t make out a word.

After a few deep, steadying breaths, you heard the familiar broken sound of the bell so you sat up straight from the stacks and made your way to the closing door.

Of course, William saw you.

“You shouldn’t spy like that, midget.” Your hands played with the hem of your shirt and smiled sheepishly up at him, guilty on being caught. His smile softened and suddenly heavy with age. “Get out of here—she’s waiting outside for you.”

After a mock salute you asked: “Is she your sister? You sorta look alike.”

“Just can’t stay away from other people’s business, can you?” You shook your head. “She is. Kind of.”

You ignored the last part. “Yeah, you look like good siblings.” He laughed and went around the counter, guiding you out the door.

“You’ll never know.” He said in a whisper before opening the door. “Now get lost. I’ve got a shop to close.”

“But you’re still open for another two hours.”

“Well, not today.” Once at the sidewalk, you noticed the girl down the street with her back to you, looking at the other street. “Seeing her wore me out.” Waving a hand at him, you walked towards the girl. “Tell your Father he can keep the CD he rented for a few more days.”

“Will do!”

You were at the girl’s side soon after. She was staring at her notebook, chewing at the end of her pen as if she was trying hard to remember something. You stared hard at her face, noticing the little furrow in between her brows. Tugging at her arm, she knelt down without making a sound, still looking at her notebook but the writing was obscured from your vision.

Pressing a finger at the furrow, her eyes raised to your finger then to your eyes.

“What are you doing, cupcake?”

“You look so serious. You’re starting to look old.” And she did; so did William and your Dad. She laughed a little too loud – the sound something you didn’t expect from her.

“You,” she drawled the word out. “, have no idea.” A smile formed on her lips as she stood up and pats you at the head. “I have to go now, though. Thanks, creampuff.” Then she just started walking away, holding the notebook close to her face but attention was towards you.

When she was a few steps away, you called out. “You never told me your name.”

_One, two, three, four_ —she did six pen strokes on a page, closed it and never faced you again.

“Well I have to keep my air of mystery, now won’t I?”

The image of her retreating back burned your eyes. You didn’t look away. And it was stupid of you to not blink, making your eyes irritated and felt like sandpaper once again.

Her laughter echoed in the empty streets and you smiled with her.

A few days later, you and your Dad went to the music store to return the CD William told to return. You were greeted with completely covered windows—making it impossible to see inside—of the building with a _for lease_ notice on the front door.

Under the notice, though, was a drawing only you found. Most of the paper was littered with black ink, leaving the edges white except for the gleaming cat eyes, fangs, and what seemed to be claw marks floating at the middle of the drawing – its white contrasting with the black ink.

On the back was some sort of map, a paper filled with stars and some constellations. But a part of it wasn’t finished and _Paris. Be back sometime_ was written in a fancy cursive only years of practice can help achieve. It was as if she ripped it before she could finish it. And it was unsettling on how you somehow _knew_ that this was from the girl.

The paper sat in one of the books your Mom used to read to you before bed; her favourite. Your Dad never touched the books so it would be safe, from him at least. You wanted to keep this as a secret; something the girl in black left for you.

You wonder if she left you not with a mystery but left herself _as_ the mystery.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thoughts? Bother me at Tumblr: wappyjulia-kun.tumblr.com
> 
> Later, hoomans.

**Author's Note:**

> This is multi-chap so... comments, thoughts?
> 
> Bother me at Tumblr: wappyjulia-kun.tumblr.com
> 
> Laters, hoomans.


End file.
